


Connect

by oooknuk



Series: Needs [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: BDSM, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Duncan needs to connect with Methos





	Connect

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Fisting, m/m, angst and language

The fight was short, bitter and pointless. Again. And again it was up to me to try and fix it.

"I'm sorry," I said, coming to sit across the table from him in the garden.

Methos put his book down and looked at me. "Mac, this is the fifth argument we've had this week, and the third time today you've apologised for losing your temper." He reached over and pushed a stray hair off my face. "You can't go on like this."

I rested my head on my crossed arms. I was always so tired lately. "Yeah, I know. It's just been hard getting back into things."

He moved his chair so he could sit next to me. "I don't think you should have gone back to work, not so soon."

"Joe's dead, Methos. He doesn't need me any more." As always, when we started to discuss the time I'd spent nursing our friend through the cancer which killed him, I could feel an irrational defensiveness build which I was helpless to prevent or ignore. It had led directly to three of the fights we'd had in as many days, and I could sense Methos' hackles rising again at my gruffness. It was like I couldn't say anything right any more, and everything he did seemed to be a reproach for having abandoned him for over a year to care for Joe. "People die. You told me that, remember?"

"There are people and people, Mac. There's no reason for you to return to work, you know that. You could go on holiday, get your head sorted out."

"No. I don't want to, I want to be in my own home, at my own job and I don't think a trip would help. How many times do I bloody well have to tell you that?"

Methos' lips pursed in an expression that was becoming usual – one of suppressed annoyance and concern. "No more, if you insist. But, Mac, you're destroying yourself, and you're destroying us."

"Fine," I snapped, standing abruptly. "Maybe after thirty years, it's time for a change."

I stalked back inside. I didn't mean it. Losing Methos would be the end of me. Losing Joe was appalling enough, like losing an arm, and especially the way he'd gone. There had been no dignity in it. He'd been in pain and distress almost to the last, and the last words we'd exchanged had been angry. Soon after, he'd lapsed into a coma and never regained consciousness. I was there when he died but it had brought me no peace, no closure. It had been so wrong. We had both worked so hard to make that final year of his good, but that last month had been the worst of my life, not even excepting when Richie died, or when Tessa had been killed.

Methos had stayed at work while I had gone to live with Joe, keeping our life and home together, knowing Joe only wanted one person to help him. He drove up every weekend, which was good for me – any more than that and the strain would have been too much for all of us. Joe had really appreciated my coming to live with him to care for him. After Amy died, there was no one else, and he was terrified of dying alone or in the hospital. We didn't quite manage to keep him at home – he died in a hospice, in a bright cheerful room as unlike a hospital as you could get. But he was still dead, and two months on, there was a vast emptiness within me, a huge exhaustion which no amount of love and care from Methos, no amount of sleep could fill or erase.

Methos was as lost as I was. We both knew my reactions were wrong, that my grief was disproportionate even for someone we love and honoured as much as Joe. Methos had done everything he could to console, to soothe, to help me get past this, but still I felt old and ill and dead inside. I knew it was hurting him. I knew it was killing us. I just didn't know what to do. And neither did he.

I heard him come in and looked up. "I guess this is apology number four," I said wryly.

He came to sit at my feet, and rested his head on my knee, stroking my leg slowly. "Mac, what can I do? I hate to see you like this."

I touched his head, running my hand through his hair. "I don't know, Methos. It's not you, it's me. Look, maybe you're right. I'll ... I'll go to Paris, or somewhere else, see if a change of scenery will work."

He twisted and looked up at me, and all I could see was the deep unhappiness in his eyes. "I don't want to drive you away. I can bear any amount of abuse, but what I can't stand is knowing that I'm helpless to ease your pain."

I bent so I could kiss him. "If love were enough, I wouldn't have a care in the world. It really isn't you. Please understand."

"Your pain is my pain, Duncan. As mine is yours." I tugged him up so he could sit on my lap – the chair was big enough for two. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. "You know," he said slowly. "We haven't been up to Eric's for nearly two years. He keeps asking after you."

I nearly pushed him away in irritation. "I've had more important things to do than play, Methos."

He stared at me for a moment before climbing off me with immense dignity. "Yes, well, I'd forgotten that the noble Highlander doesn't descend to the mucky levels I inhabit unless forced to."

I'd gone too far. Our friendship with Eric was one we both valued, and more than that, it was one Methos needed. For me to dismiss it so rudely was cruel. "You know that's not true," I said deliberately. "Are you suggesting we both go up there? I don't mind if you want to head up on your own."

"That's not what I'm suggesting. You've just spent a long time away, doing a dirty, painful job, and you need a break. If Eric's doesn't appeal, then book a flight somewhere you do want to go. But you're not functioning at work, you're rampaging around our home like a wounded stag, and frankly I think it's a pretty poor tribute to Joe's life and his friendship for you not to allow yourself space to grieve properly."

"I don't need lessons from you about grief, Methos!" I shouted. He clamped his lips tightly together, turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

I put my head in my hands. Shit like that was coming out of my mouth lately, and all I seemed to be able to do was apologise after the fact. It was getting old, and Methos, love me though I knew he did, wasn't going to stand for being a whipping boy forever. Nobody would.

Despite myself, a self-pitying tear slipped out. It wasn't enough to lose a friend I'd known for forty years, but I had to lose my soul mate too? Damn it, I couldn't let that happen.

I thought for a little while longer and then went into our office to use the phone there. We hardly ever used it these days – everyone seemed to be using vidmail, or vidphones, but I liked the anonymity of the screenless telephone.

Eric answered within a couple of rings. "Duncan! My God, how are you? I've been so worried about you – Henry was on the verge of making me drive down and kidnap you both."

I cleared my throat. Ridiculously, I felt my eyes begin to fill. "Um, Eric ... I think I need your help...."

"What is it, Duncan? Is it Methos again?"

"No ... me. Look ... things are bad ... him and me, me mostly. I ... I don't know what to do any more...." I started to choke up in shame at having to admit how bad things were.

Eric was naturally horrified at my state. "Good heavens, Duncan. Of course I'll help you. But right now I can't understand a word you're saying."

I cleared my throat again, blew my nose, and this time he could hear me clearly. "I think I need to come up right away, Eric. If I don't ... if we don't ...."

"Yes, Duncan, I agree. Just come up when you're ready. Come on your own, for now. No need to call first, you know you're always welcome here, and we're very quiet at the moment. It's very dull, Henry was just saying to me." A pause. "Methos _is_ still with you, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course."

"Wonderful." He sounded relieved. Now tell him that I want you to come up immediately. His master instructs him." That was a joke. Eric didn't order Methos around outside the monastery, and only rarely within it. "Will you be all right, Duncan? Whatever's happening, you're a strong man. Just hold on."

"I'll be okay. It'll be good to see you both again."

"Henry will be delighted, as will I. See you soon."

He hung up, and I felt as if a tiny part of the burden on my soul had lifted. I had admitted to someone that our marriage was in trouble and asked for help. That had to be a good thing.

I called work and told them not to expect me for a couple of weeks, then went in search of my spouse. He was in the kitchen, making supper. He wouldn't look at me. "I, uh, called Eric," I said diffidently.

He turned, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. "What for?"

I came to him, and eased the kitchen knife he was using out of his hands before taking him in my arms. I could feel his resistance and knew what caused it. I had been dishing out the hurt pretty freely lately and he was getting wary of my initiating conversations. They always seemed to end in an argument. "You were right, Methos. I do need something, and Eric's is a good place to start. If nothing else, it might make life a little easier for you if there's someone else for me to abuse."

He smiled uncertainly. "You do realise that he's the one with the whips, don't you? You start any of that crap with him, and you'll get fifty of the best."

"Ouch." I smiled back. "Yeah, I do know. I want to try, Methos. Losing you is unthinkable. Losing what we have together would be a tragedy."

He let me pull him close. "That's exactly how I feel, Mac. I don't intend to give you up without a fight, even to Joe Dawson's ghost."

"You're not fighting Joe," I said gently. "You're fighting me – what's wrong with me – and I don't want you to give up. Don't let me drown."

"I won't, Duncan." He kissed me, long and sweetly, forgiving me more than I deserved. "When do you want to go?"

"Tomorrow. You don't mind me going on my own?"

"No, Mac. I can't get away just now, and you need this. Stay as long as you need. I'll come up if you want, but I think it will do you good to have some time with them." He looked at me intently. " _You_ don't mind, do you?"

I just held him close. How could I possibly mind him giving me yet another chance?

 

* * *

When I got to the monastery, Eric was waiting, as he always did, to meet me. He held me at arms length, and assessed me. "Oh, you poor boy. And poor Methos. Why have you left it so long to ask for help?"

"Thought I could manage," I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

"Well, I think not. Not yet. Now, while you are here, Henry and I are entirely yours, any time night or day. I spoke to Methos this morning...." He warned me with a wagging finger when I was going to comment. "Now, come on, man. He's involved too. He's told me to tell you that whatever you need, whatever you want to do, you're to do it. And I say that as well. Understood?"

"Yes, Eric."

"Good. So. What would you like to do first?"

I wasn't ready to dissect things just yet. "I, uh ... thought I'd go for a hike up the mountain crest while the weather holds. It's going to rain tomorrow. Would you mind?"

My request didn't seem to bother him in the least. "Not at all, Duncan. I'll see to the car and your bags, don't worry about those. I don't want you to worry about anything while you're here. Why don't you head off? Henry's up there, you'll probably meet him. "

I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to anyone, but Henry was not just anyone. "All right, I'll see you later. Don't wait supper on me."

The mountain behind the monastery was very steep but I had climbed it many times over the years. The view was well worth the effort, but the effort itself, like the fresh air and the silence, was welcome. I could feel Immortal presence as I reached the top. Henry was sitting there, looking out over the valley. He turned and smiled, rising to greet me. "Duncan, it's been so long. How are you?"

I couldn't help but smile – I was very fond of this youthful looking man with his innocent soul. "Do you want the truth or should I be polite?" I motioned him back to the rock he'd been sitting on, and I took up a seat on a nearby one. To the west, the clouds that would bring the predicted rain were already boiling up, but the sun was still strong – Henry looked attractively pink from sitting out in it.

"Is it that bad? Methos told us about your friend. I'm so sorry about that."

"Aren't we all," I said dryly, unable to look at his sympathetic eyes.

"You look tired. You haven't been sleeping?"

"Sleeping, eating, fucking, working – you name it, and I haven't been doing it."

He reached over and put his hand on my arm. "And Methos?"

"Methos ...." I couldn't speak, my throat closed up and I had to look away. Henry squeezed my arm a little, and I turned back towards him. "I'm losing him," I said and even saying the words made my heart freeze.

He rubbed his hand a little in a soothing motion. "No, that's impossible. You won't lose him. I know that for certain."

"Do you? We're fighting all the time. It's my fault. We can't seem to talk without it turning it into an argument. I don't know what to do. We've had our ups and downs – you'd expect that – but it's like we're strangers sometimes."

"Your friend – Joe? He was his friend too?"

"Yes, even longer than he was mine."

"That must have hit him very hard."

"Of course, but he wasn't there when Joe was sick. He wasn't there when he died...."

Henry squeezed my arm, then came and sat on the same rock as me. "Duncan, Methos is very, very old. Do you really think he doesn't know what you're feeling? What you're going through?"

"You make it sound like I've never lost anyone before, Henry. I've lost many more people than you can imagine."

His voice was very gentle when he answered. "Yes, I know. So what's different this time?"

"I don't know!" I said in despair. "The last time ... when I felt this bad, was when my ... my student was killed...." Not even with Henry could I share that shame. "I've never nursed someone that close to me before, maybe that's why."

"Have you talked to Methos?"

"I've tried. We both have. It's like there aren't the right words to say what I feel, what I'm thinking. Every time I open my mouth I hurt him." I pushed my sweaty hair back and sighed in frustration. "Words are his strong suit, not mine."

"You're hardly tall, dark and inarticulate yourself," he said with a slight grin. "I don't know what to say to you, Duncan. I have every faith that, with love and good will, you will find each other again. Did you think we had the answers? Is that why you came?"

"No," I said quickly. "No, it was Methos' suggestion and I agreed. But I'm not here to play."

"You don't always need to come here just for that," he said a little reproachfully. "I thought we were friends, Duncan."

"We are, Henry. Good friends. It's just, you know, Eric and Methos...."

"Eric has a lot of people who come to him for his services, you know. He only feels about a couple of them the same way we do about you. We would have liked to have helped you with Joe, if we could."

"He didn't want anyone but me. He turned Methos away, said that it was bad enough he had to rot slowly without all his friends having to watch."

"I bet that upset Methos."

"I think it did. He never said anything. You know he was a doctor, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember. A long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but he's a natural healer. I think Joe made the wrong choice, sending him away. Wanting me, not him."

Henry was very quiet for a long time, and I wondered if he was bored, or offended. But then he spoke again. "Even if he did, and I don't think he did, it was his choice to make, don't you think? He had to live and die by the consequences, and it's not your fault if someone or something else would have been better. You didn't make him sick. You weren't the reason he was mortal. Duncan, sometimes, things just are. Punishing yourself, or Methos, won't change that."

"I'm not punishing him!" I said, angered by the idea.

"So where is he?"

"I just wanted to let him get away from my bad mood for a while."

Henry looked at me gravely. "I'm sure he's seen you in worse moods. Duncan, why do you think Methos might not want to be around you?"

I stared at him. "I ...." My throat just clamped shut.

He reached out and touched my cheek. "Ah. I see. Maybe when you can answer that question, you might be ready to go back to him."

He stood up and offered me his hand. "Come back, Duncan. Let's eat. I'm sure we can help."

"I hope so, Henry. I really do."

 

* * *

A week and a half later, I watched as Methos came up our path, saw his head lift as he felt my Presence, and then opened the door before he could unlock it. "Mac!" he cried, coming into my arms. "When did you get back?"

At least he was pleased to see me. I hugged him tight. "This morning."

"But you didn't call ... is everything all right?" He peered anxiously at me.

"No, no, I just wanted to surprise you. I missed you, Methos."

"Me too, Mac. Can we go inside?"

I picked up his forgotten briefcase, led him inside and made him sit. I poured him a glass of whisky without asking and he took it gratefully. "You look tired," I said, sitting next to him and taking his free hand.

"Chinese water torture by student," he said wearily. "Is it me, or are people getting dumber?"

"You're asking the wrong man, Methos. I always feel stupid next to you."

He sighed and stretched. I knelt down and took his shoes and socks off, before massaging his feet. "Oh that's nice, Mac." His hand came down gently on my head and began to caress me carefully.

"Methos, love, can I ask a favour of you?"

"There's no need to ask." He leaned forward. "What do you need?"

"I need ... I need you. I need to connect with you."

His eyebrows drew together. "What do you want me to do?" He looked a little worried, and I couldn't help thinking that he had every right to be after the way I'd been treating him.

"Just give yourself to me tonight. Let me make you feel good."

His expression suddenly cleared. "You don't need my permission for that."

"No, love. Only to let me take charge. Like I do at Eric's but not for the same reason. Do you consent to that?"

He considered carefully, knowing as I did that the charged word 'consent' was not to be used lightly. When we went to Eric's for his sake, Methos gave me control of all his actions and welfare deliberately and with full permission. In asking for that tonight, I was asking for an abandonment of his hard-won control and freedom. Asking for a trust to which, perhaps, I no longer had any right.

But finally he nodded. "Yes. I give you my consent. Do with me as you wish."

I held my breath, knowing that he literally meant this. I could flog him to death with this permission – not that I ever would. It was an enormous expression of his love and belief in me.

I held out my hands and he placed his own in mine. "I won't hurt you, Methos. I swear that." He nodded, and I realised that I needed to give him permission even to speak. This was going to be harder than I thought. I didn't want him slipping into sub space, but I had used the form of words which would trigger that. "You aren't my slave. I only want you to let me take the lead. Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course."

I handed him his drink and then came back to sit on the sofa. As he sipped his Scotch, I held him close, my hand buried in his hair. We didn't talk. I hoped we would later, but right now, all I wanted to do was sit with him near me, without the bitter arguing, without the grief that had built walls between us.

We sat like that for more than half an hour without words, without tension. When he finished his drink, I asked, "Hungry?"

"Actually, I am. I missed lunch again. You want me to cook?"

"No need. It's all done. Why don't we go to the dining room?"

From his look, I could tell I was confusing him – asking him for consent to do as I wished, then giving him choices. As he stood, I pulled him to me. " _Not_ my slave, love. You are my delight, my precious possession. I don't want your submission tonight. Only your pleasure."

"I understand, Mac." He stood away from me and held his arms out at his sides. "I'm your plaything?"

I grinned. "My plush toy?"

"I can live with that. Hope you made lots of food."

I had – three different salads, poached trout, and a tomato mousse. I poured him wine but abstained myself. He noticed but didn't comment on the fact I was only drinking mineral water. I couldn't risk having my control dulled at all.

He wasn't joking – he was hungry, and it seemed to me he enjoyed the meal more than any we'd shared since I'd returned from Joe's. For me, I was just happy to watch him as I ate, seeing his simple pleasure in eating food I'd prepared with my own hands, for his taste. It was all light food, the dessert a simple sorbet, but when we were done, he sighed. "Damn, Mac, I love your cooking. I really didn't enjoy batching it again."

"I never meant it to cause you inconvenience, Methos." He stared at me gravely. I hoped he knew I meant more than 'inconvenience'.

"I know you didn't," he said, and then I knew he understood.

I made coffee for both of us, and I stroked his hand as we sat sipping our drinks, letting the meal settle. It wouldn't do to begin what I'd planned on a full stomach.

"This is nice, Mac," he ventured. "I guess going to Eric helped?"

"They both helped. But I don't want to talk about them tonight, if you don't mind. I just want to talk about us. Just want it to be us."

He nodded, and I was glad not to have to explain further. I'd talked and talked – and other things – with Eric and Henry, but it remained that nothing could take the place of me repairing the connection with Methos that I had come so close to breaking. That he was still here, smiling gently at me and looking peaceful, was far more than I felt I deserved. I was tempted not to disturb him, but if we didn't talk, our problems would come back.

"I'd like to give you a bath and a massage, is that okay?" I asked him.

"When would it not?" he smiled.

"And ...uh... I'd like you to be clean inside too."

He lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. It wasn't something we did at home much, but of course it was normal at Eric's. "Shall we start?" he asked.

I stood and held out my hand. "Leave everything to me, Methos."

"Oh, with pleasure. After the day I've had, my head hurts too much to think any more."

Our bathroom is the most indulgent room in the house – next to the bedroom. Both of us could remember outdoor privies and worse, and tended to splash out money on our facilities when we could. It was one thing we'd never argued over.

I lit the candles and turned the lights down a little. I'd put fresh flowers in vases around and the air was gently scented and warm. Methos waited for me to undress him, then I helped him up on the massage table, covering him with a soft towel while I undressed myself, set the massage oil to warm and prepared the enema bag.

I put a little oil on my hands, uncovered his body and lay my palms on his stomach. I could feel the slight tension in his body, perhaps from still being unsure what I was planning, but I knew he would understand soon enough. I usually started by massaging his belly, because it was the quickest way of getting him to loosen up. Tonight, that was more important than ever.

Slowly I rubbed around his navel, down the hollows of his hips, urging him to spread his legs so I could cup his balls and warm them in one hand. I reached over for the lube, which had been left to warm to body temperature, and squeezed a little at his entrance before easing a finger in.

He wriggled a little – he loved ass play – and I watched his cock slowly fill. I fucked him a little with my finger. "Ready for the douche?"

"Sure," he said lazily.

He sighed as I slid the nozzle carefully inside him. "Comfy?"

"I'm fine."

I set the flow to slow, then put more oil on my hands. While he was taking the bag, I would give him a full massage.

His eyes were closed, but when I laid my hands on his face, he opened them. "Hi," he said softly. I bent and kissed him.

"I missed you," I said quietly. "Not just this week. All this year. I don't think I told you that enough."

"I wanted to help, Mac."

"I know. I wanted you. But he ... he wanted so little...."

"And we have so much," he whispered, closing his eyes again. I smoothed his forehead, massaged his cheeks. He was right. The Immortal dilemma, our guilt. We had a gift mortals could only dream of, but it was one we could not give away.

And so I worked on him, on his arms and chest, occasionally massaging his stomach if it looked like he was cramping at all, adjusting the flow rate for maximum comfort. I was pleasantly reminding myself of how much I desired his body, not just the man inside it. He was easily my most handsome male partner, and even put some of my female ones in the shade. He kept himself in damn good trim. Although he was careful to avoid making a display of himself, his arms and pectorals were as powerful as my own. It was deceptive. We had very different body structures, although we were of a similar height and weight. His mass was all in his bones, mine in my muscles, giving him the illusion of being lanky. But stretched out before me, oiled and warm, he looked perfectly proportioned, and totally fuckable.

He was fully hard now, and as the bag was nearly empty, I kissed his cock as I disconnected the hose. He opened his eyes and grinned at me. "You okay?" I asked.

"I was nearly asleep, to be honest."

"If you want to...."

"No, Mac. I'm okay."

"Let me run the bath, and you can release. I'll wash you then."

He gave me a tolerant smile. He found being bathed by me amusing in some way, although he refused to ever explain why. I shook my head at him, flipped on the tap, and then helped him stand.

I left him to carry out his private functions, while I got the bedroom ready. More candles, very quiet music – I'd debated with myself whether it was right to have it, but finally I decided that _I_ needed it. Methos wouldn't mind.

When I returned to the bathroom, Methos was sitting on the closed toilet seat, waiting patiently. I added a little rose oil to the bath, and he stepped into it, with me taking a seat behind him. He leaned back against me. "Mmmm. We haven't done this for so long, Mac."

"I know, love. I'm sorry," I murmured into his ear, rubbing his pectorals.

"Mac, you asked me for a favour earlier. Can I ask one of you?"

"Anything, Methos, you know that."

"Stop apologising to me. You did nothing wrong. Not a single thing."

I couldn't answer ... he didn't know. But he didn't press, and I didn't explain, only pressing a kiss into his hair before I poured water over it so I could shampoo it and condition it.

He let me clean him, rinsing him off with fresh water at the end, and waited for me to dry him off. I knelt at his feet, and took his cock into my mouth. He'd softened but under my tongue, his cock swelled again. His fingers rested in my hair, neither urging nor restraining me, but I had no intention of making him come just yet. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at me when I stood, leaving him hard and unsatisfied. "Trust me," I said to his unasked question.

"You're the boss," he said calmly.

I let him go ahead of me in the bedroom, and he stopped still as he saw what I'd installed. "Oh, my," he said, walking over the sling. "You _have_ been a busy child. For me?"

"Who else? You like?"

He gave it an experimental tug, looked at the sheepskin liner, and fingered the leather seat. "No expense spared. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Something else for you. Here." I showed him the little box, opened it and extracted the new silver nipple clamps. I swear the man would wear the damn things all the time if he didn't think he'd embarrass himself. I cupped his face and kissed him. "Would you like me to put them on you?"

"After all this time," he sighed, "you still need to ask."

I pinched his nipples and clipped the clamps on, flicking them and making him squirm. "My little pain slut."

"Always, Mac." He picked up my right hand and kissed the fingertips.

"You know what I want to do?" He nodded. "And that's okay?"

"You've never done it before?"

"Not _to_."

His eyes widened briefly as he worked out what I meant. "Eric?" he said softly.

"And Henry. They were very kind."

"Henry's the expert for sure. I could think of no one better to teach you."

"Do you trust me to do this?"

For answer, he kissed my fingertips again. He stepped onto the little footstool I'd put there, then climbed into the sling. "Oh, lovely, Mac," he purred. "Top of the range."

"Nothing less for you, Methos." I leaned over him, adjusting the little pillow behind his head. "I'll need you to guide me."

"You'll be fine, Mac. No need to be ambitious, that's not what it's about."

He looked totally calm, but my own heart had begun to race with anxiety now we had begun. I spent a little time getting all that I needed on the bed beside me, before fixing his feet up in the stirrups. Not the most elegant position, but he looked happy enough. "I think I could sleep in this, you know. Do you think visitors would buy that it's my new hammock?"

"Henry suggested we use it to dry our woolies on when we're not using it – that's what they do." He barked out a surprised laugh at that.

One of the things that I'd spent some time discussing with Henry was the type of lube to use, and he'd suggested one of his own mixes which I'd brought back with me. I held the pot of aqueous cream near his nose for his approval. "Mmmm, cloves. Nice. That'll do nicely, Mac. You might feel happier with a glove."

"Yeah, I would." I pulled one on, and got a good dollop of the cream on my fingers. I took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Yes, heart. Take it slow. Listen to me. And remember that I trust you."

God. Now was not the time to review all the stories I'd found on the internet about how this could go so wrong. Immortal or not, I had no wish to cause him injury or pain.

"Mac, just start with one finger. We can always stop later," he said gently.

One finger. That was easy. I was sitting on the bed, prepared for this all to take a long time. The sling made things as accessible as I could want, and I knew how comfortable the sling was. After all, I'd deliberately bought exactly the same model as Eric and Henry had installed in their home. On that side of things, I had no worries.

A second finger slid in with sinful ease as Methos began to play with his nipple clamps. His cock began to fill again, always something I loved to watch, but when I put a hand on it, he pushed it away gently. "Please, Mac. Don't make me come."

I made a moué and he laughed. "Greedy child." A third finger went in with no resistance and he sighed. "Oh good god, Mac. That's _great_." He pushed down on my hand, as if trying to suck it inside him – and I hadn't even touched his prostate. I stroked the sweet spot, and he shuddered. It was like he was a precious musical instrument and I was playing him, drawing the sounds, the reactions out of him. I think that, watching him, I fell in love with him all over again.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered to myself. I don't think he heard me, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was mine and I was his, and right now we were connected, as I needed us to be.

More cream, and now all four of my fingers were moving in and out of him, stretching him gently. He was hard as hell, and I gave his cock a kiss, wanting to do much more. His hand caressed my hair, and I laid my head on his stomach, watching his cock twitch as my fingers moved. "I could do this all night," I said.

"I could let you. Are you all right?"

"Never happier, love. Shall I go on?"

"As you wish, Duncan. I'm yours."

 _My_ cock twitched at his words, and I dared not touch myself in case I came, I felt so close. His eyes were half-shut with pleasure and the hand that was not on my head was drifting slowly back and forth over his nipples. I might have felt excluded by his ecstasy if I couldn't feel his pulse through my fingers and hear his breath moving in and out of his body under my ear.

I could keep my head where it was and still reach all that I needed. I added more lube, because things were about to get tricky. I arrowed my hand and began to push it into him, up to mid palm. I felt him take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. I waited until his breathing became normal again. Moved my hand out, then pushed in again, a little more, and now to the base of my hand. I remembered how it had burned when Henry had done this and I looked at Methos anxiously. He was gazing serenely back at me, smiling. I fancied there was a tiny amount of strain in his expression, but his breathing was easy.

"It feels good, Duncan. Don't lose your nerve," he said. "Remember how it felt for you."

More lube. Knowing too much was never enough. And then, suddenly, my hand disappeared inside of him. I was so shocked at the sight I forgot to move. "Oh, God, Methos. God."

He sat up a little and cupped my chin. "It's okay, Mac. It's good. Move your hand. Turn it."

Dazedly I stared at the incredible sight. He stroked my cheek and brought me back to myself. "I'm sorry," I said, realising he was probably uncomfortable.

He tapped my face. "You promised, Mac."

"Oh. S... Jesus, Methos, it feel like I'm wearing you!"

He laughed. "Mac, Mac. You're touching me, that's all. And it's fantastic, it really is." He lay back down and ruffled my hair. "Please. Fill me up, Duncan. I want you."

I couldn't relax now soI sat up so I could really concentrate. Now was the riskiest bit. More lube, on my hand and on my arm. "How ... uh, how far?" Henry had only gone as far as I had done now. But Methos was experienced at handballing and would expect more.

"Mid-forearm? Mac, are you okay with this?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Even with all the advice I'd had, it was nothing like doing it. "You need to relax," I said hoarsely.

"So do you, heart. Just hold on a minute. You know what is going to happen?"

"There's a ring."

"Yes. The inner sphincter," he said quietly, slipping into teacher mode. "I can't control it. You're in charge. And the other thing to consider is my pelvis. You have big hands, Duncan. We can't do anything about that. If it won't fit, no point in forcing it. Won't mean you've failed, or that I'm not enjoying myself. Okay?"

"Okay." His calm words had helped.

"Slowly now."

I turned my hand, kept twisting it slowly as I eased forward until I met the resistance I'd been warned about. As Henry had instructed me, rushing it now could cause painful, uncontrollable spasms. Not what I had planned. I gently teased and pushed at the ring of muscle, feeling it slowly stretch. Seeing Methos' cock bobbing almost in my face, I had an idea. I bent and took it in my mouth. He gasped, but I felt that inner resistance decrease slightly. As I worked him with my mouth, feeling his cock throb on my tongue, my hand was sliding inexorably up inside him. Suddenly I was through – my arm was half inside him and he came suddenly, shouting my name, his hands gripping my head.

I swallowed and laid my head on his stomach. I fancied I could actually feel my hand inside him under my cheek. I certainly could feel his panting, and the shuddering of his body from the aftershocks. "Oh, fuck. Oh, Christ," my heathen lover blasphemed softly. "Mac – you have no idea how that feels. Oh, God."

I kissed his stomach, stroking it with my free hand. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah. God. Give... give me a minute."

I kept my hand still, and waited. His face was a mixture of ecstasy and strain, but the strain was disappearing. He opened his eyes finally, saw me watching him, and grinned. "That was near as dammit a religious experience if ever I had one." I turned my hand and he moaned. "Oh, yes, do that. Move your hand again, Mac."

Slowly I did so, his inner muscles gripping my hand tightly. I felt so close to Methos. He flowed around me. I could feel his heart beat, every minute movement he made. I was still shocked at exactly what I was doing, but I concentrated on the amazing sensation, almost zoning on the feel of Methos around me. So tight, so smooth – he was pulling me in, like he wanted all of me inside him.

He was getting hard again, and I played with him with my free hand, a little awkwardly since I'm not left handed, but he didn't seem to mind. "We haven't had fun like this in a long time," I said softly, not wanting to break the mood.

"No. I really missed it, Duncan. I really missed you." I was sorry for the sadness in his voice. "I don't begrudge it though. I think if you had done anything else, you wouldn't be the man I love."

"And if you didn't know that about me, you wouldn’t be Methos. How's that?" I twisted my hand, brushing against his prostate over and over.

I'd made him speechless, which made me smile. I kept up the slow back and forth movement, and twisting for a few minutes, but my hand was getting tired. I guessed that he was getting close to the edge of his tolerance too, and I didn't want him worn out. I eased out gently of him for the last time. Even then, it seemed he was trying to pull me back in again. "Okay?"

"Better than," he sighed. I stripped off the glove, wiped my hands on a towel, and stood, stretching. We must have been doing this for more than an hour, I realised. I came up to the top of the bed and sat next to him. He looked sated, flushed and happy, and kissed me eagerly when I bent over him. "Thank you, Mac. That was glorious. But what about you?"

"Let me clean up a little and then we can discuss me."

I let his legs down and then went to the bathroom where I washed my hands and fetched a couple of cloths. I wiped him down, then cleared all the jars and towels away, dumping it all in the bathroom. When I came out again, he had climbed out of the sling and was lying on the bed. He looked tired but happy. And relaxed.

"What would you like?" he asked, as I sat next to him.

"I'd like to fuck you, but I think that's not a good idea."

"My mouth is always at your service, Mac."

"Well, then, it would be rude to refuse, wouldn't it?" I said, smiling, before he pulled me down flat on the bed. He moved lower and took in my cock eagerly. I let him adjust before sinking my length into his throat. It was the same way he had relaxed and moved around my hand, I realised. I didn't think I would ever forget that sensation, however long I lived.

I was close – I'd deliberately ignored my own need to attend to his – but I 'd been hard nearly as long as we'd been playing. I moved my hand between us so I could brush the nipple clamps from time to time, and his moans around my cock nearly sent me off there and then.

Finally he did that thing with his tongue that always undoes me, and I came so hard I nearly saw stars. I shook my head to clear it.

"Get carried away, did we?" He looked smug.

"Don't get a swelled head, Methos," I said fondly. He made a face as I took the nipple clamps off him, but he could hardly sleep in them. Actually, he could, but _I_ couldn't sleep if he was wearing them.

I stood up and moved the lump lying on the covers so we could both get under them. I was tired – with the anxiety before, and so much concentration during. It had been like this so much of the time I nursed Joe, I had been so uptight, but there had been no relief, and no relaxation or happiness at the end of it all. Not for the first time, I experienced a guilty pang at being relieved it was all over, that Joe was free of his pain and I from the endless strain.

"Mac – Mac? What's wrong?"

I had disappeared inside my head again, something I had done all too often since Joe had died, and it was a big part of our problems. "Methos .... " I needed to talk to him about this, but he was tired, relaxed, and happy. I didn't want to spoil that. "It's nothing."

He leaned up on one elbow. "When did you get into the habit of hiding your feelings from me, Duncan?" he said quietly, a little reproachfully. "There's nothing I can't handle, except maybe you saying you don't love me any more, which I won't believe anyway. What is it?" I sighed, and he pulled me close so he could stroke and play with my hair, which I loved him doing and which always calmed me. "We're just starting to come together again. Don't undo what you've done here."

"Sometimes I'm glad he's dead, okay?" Methos' hands stilled. "No, that came out wrong – I miss him, but I don't miss the stress."

"And what's so shameful about that? It was awful." He resumed his gentle caresses.

"For him, it was awful," I said forcefully. " _He_ was the one in pain, _he_ was the one who was dying. All I had to give him was a few months of my time. There was no long-term consequence for me – but he's the one who's _dead_!" I tried to move away but he wouldn't let me go.

"Even if you had died," he said gently, "Joe would still be dead. Your suffering, your guilt, your pain – none of it, Mac – would have bought him a nanosecond's more life. If Joe were here, he would tell you he was grateful for your love and your help, and even more grateful that you are still around to remember him. The Joe Dawson I knew would understand. Which Joe do you remember?"

It could have sounded like an invitation to an argument, but he was too old and wise for that. For the first time, I felt I could describe some of the turmoil in my head about this. "He asked me to kill him, Methos." I'd never told him that before. He knew nothing about some of the bitter arguments Joe and I had had, but even so, he didn't look surprised by what I'd said.

"When?"

"A couple of times. Last time was before just before he went into the coma." Despite my earlier peace, I felt my eyes filling up. He kissed my forehead but let me speak. "He really meant it, but I couldn't... I could never ... there was always a chance he might .... a cure ... no, there wasn't .... I was just afraid of him dying .... All my life I've been a killer and when my friend begs me for death ...." My tears could not be held back any longer, and with a sob, I turned my face into his shoulder.

He stroked my back as I wept, but spared me the platitudes. At least there was no shame in crying before him. Like me, he came from a time before stiff upper lips, for which neither of us had any time. And I needed his acceptance now.

"I had to do it during the Civil war," I mumbled. "I ... I couldn't do it again .... I didn't want to be the one...."

"I know, I know," he murmured, before making me look at him. "Mac, you couldn't have killed him, just as I couldn't kill you, no matter how much you begged, however much pain you had. He knew that, I'm sure. Even if Joe was angry, he would have understood."

"But I could have done it, Methos. I could have given him the drugs. He wanted it so badly. He was so afraid of dying ... dying without dignity...."

Methos just kept stroking my hair. "Oh, Mac. I know. I've been in that position, and it bloody hurts even when you don't love them. But he shouldn't have asked you. It was too much. Forgive yourself, Duncan."

"I miss him, Methos."

"I know. So do I." He tilted my face to him. "You need to sleep now, heart. You can rest now."

He pulled me closer, and began to stroke my shoulders, kissing my hair. "Your task is over, Duncan" he murmured, "and your clan is all home. Sleep and let it go."

* * *

His words were the last thing I remembered – it was morning before I awoke, and I felt as if I had been down for a full twenty four hours, so heavy and relaxed did my body feel. My eyes were felt slightly sore and my nose stuffy, but my heart felt measurably lighter, less burdened by my shame and my grief. Even just admitting my dirty secret, I felt had breached that wall between us. Now I knew I could finally heal.

Methos was still asleep, still holding me close, but he stirred sleepily as my slight movement woke him. "Hey," he said, seeing me looking at him. He reached and touched my face. "Are you all right? You went out like a light."

"I'm better." I kissed him. "So stupid of me, to let this get on top of me."

His mouth was near my ear, and he spoke just above a whisper. "No, Duncan. If anyone's stupid, it's me for not realising how his death would affect you."

"I'm sick of blame, Methos. Sick of guilt."

"So am I. But I will never be sick of you, and I will never leave you."

My heart tightened at his words. "I was so sure I was going to lose you. That you would leave."

"If I ever left it would only be to find an answer to bring home to you. But I will never give up on you. You will have to take my head to get rid of me."

"Then I will be never rid of you, thank God."

He rolled on top of me, and took my mouth as if he intended to climb inside me. "Well," he said finally, smug once more at leaving me breathless. "Are you staying in bed?"

I wasn't tired any more, but I didn't want to move. "Aye, here I sleep, I can do no other," I said, misquoting Luther and he groaned. I grinned and settled down, weighted under a blanket of Methos, content and finally at peace. And most of all, loved.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised (or reread by me) since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


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